Raw

Someone clears their throat. More specifically, a man.

A foot away from me, a pair of Italian leather dress shoes comes into focus. Nice. Working my way up the black slacks, which encase strong, thick and very male legs, my eyes pass over his crotch, up to his belt…

That belt.

My eyes widen.

That belt!

Skimming over his crisp white shirt, silk black tie, and classy black suit jacket, my eyes move up fast to meet a pair of hooded, soft brown ones.

My heart races.

What is happening here?

Searching his face as he looks down on me, my eyes drift over the small ‘13’ tattooed on his cheekbone, then down lower at the artistic swirls, color, and grey shading peeking out from under his shirt that decorate his neck. We spend a moment watching each other closely. Me, trying to figure out what the hell is going on, and him, trying to gauge my reaction to seeing him in a more…professional sense.

Taking a small step towards me, we’re impossibly close. My breast brushes his knee. His lips twitch, and he gestures to my position kneeling on the floor. Using one tattooed hand to adjust the opposite cufflink, his husky voice washes over me. “I feel we’ve been here before.”

Oh my fucking God.

This is not happening.

Goddamn.

Seeing the beautiful Alexa Ballentine on her knees in front of me was not how I assumed this meeting would start. And by the look on her stu

Her clear blue eyes drift down to my belt, and her pupils dilate as she inhales quickly.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

She likes the belt. No one likes the belt. It’s a fucking choker for chrissakes. A growl escapes me and her head snaps upwards. She tries to avoid my gaze. I don’t like that.

Reaching forward, I cup her chin gently but firmly and lift her face. She has no choice but to make eye contact, and when our eyes meet, her face flushes and her lips thin in obvious frustration and a

Never one to make it easy on someone, I reply just as quietly, “You’re already wet, aren’t you, Alexa?”

Hissing in a breath, she closes her eyes. “You shouldn’t be here. I have an appointment.”

Gripping her chin tightly, I mutter in a bored tone, “I know. Falcon Plastics. Donation. Interview. All that jazz.”

Her eyes snap open. She stumbles on her words, “S-so you’re still watching me? I-I haven’t seen you around. Or even f-felt you around. I just assumed you were done—”

Cutting her off, I grip her arm and pull gently. She stands, lowering her skirt back over her knees, and I a

What she says next makes my smile melt off my face.

“B-but I thought you were homeless,” she mumbles.

My blood boils.

Nope.

My pride…it doesn’t like that.

I’ve been homeless. Best years of my life. Not even a joke. When I was eight-years-old, I decided that being homeless was better than being a punching bag for some overweight, disgusting slob that deserved the death he got…eventually. And it was better. I found there were a lot of kids like me out there. Ru

Taking two steps backwards, I slowly move my hand up to flick over the sign on the door. This room is now In Use. Taking my time shutting the door, when the latch clicks loudly, Lexi jumps in…fright? In anticipation? In want and need? I’m not sure. Women are complicated creatures.

Looking back, I reach for the string hanging by my side, unwind it, and watch the open blinds drop to the floor, leaving us in complete privacy.

Lexi’s face shows fear. But I know better. She isn’t scared of me. Oh no. She’s scared of herself. Of her own reaction to me.

I warned her. And I meant what I said. She will never want anyone else after I’m through with her.

And after I’m through with her. I’ll leave. And never look back.

Getting back to the matter at hand, my fingers move to my right cuff, popping out the cufflink. My voice hoarse, I say slowly, “As you can see, I’m most definitely not homeless.”

Not anymore. And I never will be again. 

Stalking towards her, she backs up until the backs of her legs hit her desk with a soft thud. The fingers of my right hand work on the opposite cuff, and once it’s free, I remove my suit jacket, throwing it onto her desk, and roll up the sleeves of my shirt to the elbows. My mind – ever calculating – suggests that I play with my newest toy. Who am I to refuse myself simple pleasures? I can’t say no. She looks so flushed and meek right now. And I’m fully hard.

When in Rome…

My feet stop directly in front of hers; I reach up to cup her cheek, and when my hand brushes the skin at her jaw, her body jolts, as if shocked. My cock jumps. We like that. Leaning my head down to hers, I brush the tip of my nose against hers. “I’m willing to give a lot of money to your cause, Ms. Ballentine.” Her breath warms my lips. Subconsciously, she inches towards my mouth. Pulling back, I add, “What are you willing to do for me?”

Lexi’s eyes meet mine. So many emotions flash through them.

Anger. Excitement. Shame.

My hooded gaze stays on her, never giving anything away. She finally lowers her face, and I smirk in victory. She quietly asks, “Are you saying you won’t donate if I don’t…” she swallows hard and stumbles on her words, “…if we don’t…I mean, if I don’t let you—”

Saving her from herself, I loosen my tie and sniff, “Sure. If that’s what you need to hear. If you need a reason to justify you sucking my cock in your office at 9am on a Monday.” Tilting my head to the side in thought, I say absently, “Sucking cock for contracts…” I fade out and watch in pleasure as fury flashes in her eyes.

I’m stu

Would you look at that?

I like this angry side. There’s a fierceness in her I never knew existed. This discovery pleases me. It’s going to be fun. Breaking her, that is.

Taking my distance as an opportunity to escape, she moves behind her desk, pulls out her chair, and motions for me to sit in the guest chair before seating her sweet ass down. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself.

You know that thing people have that tells them they’re doing something wrong or pushing too far?

Yeah. I don’t have one of those.

Walking around the desk to her, I pull her chair out using little force. Lifting her head, she scowls at me. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Taking her hands in mine, I pull her to stand and take a seat in her chair. Grasping her hips, I push her back gently until her bottom hits the edge of the desk.

Her expression shows defeat. She looks defeated. So very defeated.

I like it.

I’m making progress with her that I hadn’t anticipated making so quickly. I had plans to wine her, dine her, and slowly build up her trust and affection before I socked it to her. The real me. And more importantly, why I am the way I am.